Vanessa placed the hospital photograph on the table.
“Explain.”
Tyler rubbed both hands over his face.
“There are things you don’t understand.”
I nearly laughed.
“That sentence should be printed on the official uniform of guilty husbands.”
“Claire.”
“No. Don’t use my name like we’re having an argument about whose turn it was to buy groceries.”
Mason looked down.
I stopped immediately.
I put my hand over his.
That was the problem.
I wanted answers.
But I wanted something else more.
I wanted my son protected from the blast radius.
“Sweetheart,” I said gently, “would you like to sit outside with one of the flight attendants?”
His head snapped up.
“No.”
“Mason—”
“No.”
His voice shook, but he held my eyes.
“Everybody keeps talking about me.”
That silenced all three adults.
Mason swallowed.
“I want to know why.”
There are moments when your child suddenly seems older than they were five seconds before.
